


Think Better of Me, Father

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Series: The Dark Side of the Force is the One Ring by Another Name [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Gen, Return of the King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-11-02 12:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10944492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: One of the Steward's sons has fallen in battle, one yet remains. The father can only see what has been lost. The love of the remaining son is deemed worthless and cast aside.Lord Qui-Gon of Gondor sees Kenobi as only fit to die, barely a tenth of the Man Anakin had been.Kenobi can only agree.Osgiliath has been taken, the final war is here, and Kenobi approaches to hear his father's command and to hope, against everything he knows in his heart to be true, for just one kind word.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I went to put warnings in the tags as per usual for me, and I realized I didn't know what to say. That problem hasn't happened to me before. If, after reading this, you've found a warning I should put in there, please comment and let me know, and I will update them.

 

_“This was yours?” The Halfling's question was eager as he fingered his new armor._

_“Yes,” Kenobi admitted with a smile, “it was mine. My father had it made for me.”_

_“Well, I'm taller than you were then, though I'm not likely to grow anymore, except sideways.”_

_They both laughed, and it had been long since Kenobi had the heart to laugh._

_“It never fitted me either. Anakin was always the soldier. They were so alike, he and my father. Proud... stubborn, even... but strong.”_

_“I think you have strength, of a different kind. And one day your father will see it.”_

_Kenobi attempted a smile, but it fell flat._

_If only the kindly meant words were true._

 

 

* * *

 

“I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defenses, defenses your brother long held intact,” Lord Qui-Gon announced.

Kenobi felt his broken heart shudder anew. He missed his Anakin with all his soul. “What would you have me do?”

“I will not yield the river in Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken.”

“My Lord, Osgiliath is overrun,” Kenobi urged, the number of lives lost in such an undertaking  _too great_ to even—

Qui-Gon's gaze snapped up to his. “Much must be risked in war,” he dismissed. “Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his Lord's will?”

“You wish now that our places had been exchanged. That I had died and Anakin had lived.” Kenobi's voice wasn't as steady as he'd hoped it would be.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon whispered. “I wish that.”  
Kenobi felt something perish in his soul, something that had been struggling to survive through long years of favoritism. There was no bitterness in his voice as he spoke, just the pain that would never leave him. “Since you were robbed of Anakin, I will do what I can in his stead.”

Kenobi bowed, somehow keeping the tears within his eyelids as he turned to leave. He could feel pitying gazes on him, but there was only one gaze that mattered.

Only one gaze that had  _ever_ mattered.

In the doorway he paused, looked back, found that gaze cold and unconvinced.

“If I should return, think better of me, Father,” he murmured, and even he could hear the pleading in his voice.

Swallowing against the pain of knowing he was being sent to his death, that his Father didn't care, or worse, might prefer it, Kenobi turned once again to leave, sword a heavy weight at his side—

“That will depend on the manner of your return,” Qui-Gon muttered.

Kenobi did not look back, even if his steps faltered.

He doubted he would ever see this city, or his father, again.

Anakin, though...

He'd be seeing Anakin soon.

 

* * *

 

The men rode through the city, knowing they would not return.

They followed Kenobi for they loved him, but none looked to the mission with hope.

The families lining the road did not cheer them, did not hand them tokens to carry or call out well wishes—

They knew, too.

And so Kenobi led them to die.

He could refuse.

He would be hung, another chosen, and these men would still fall.

At least he could die with a sword in his hand, die with them, not survive the injustice his father had commanded.

Some lining the road looked at him with sympathy, others hate.

He preferred the latter.

Flowers were tossed before them by loving hands, a custom reserved for weddings and burials.

None of them lied to themselves enough to believe it was anything other than to prepare them for death...

Since their bodies would never be recovered.

They would lie out there, food for orcs and crows.

Something to entertain the nazgul's beasts.

“Kenobi!  _Kenobi!_ ”

He reigned in his horse, just a little. Not enough to stay its feet, just slow them.

“Your father's will has turned to madness,” the wizard Windu protested. “Do not throw away your life so rashly.”

Kenobi looked up, at the frightened faces of children, each one silently pleading with him to save them. “Where does my allegiance lie if not here?” he asked, something dead in his tone. “This is the city of the men of Numenor. I will gladly give my life to defend her beauty, her memory, her wisdom.”

His steed carried him beyond the wizard's reach, but not his tongue.

“Your father loves you, Kenobi. He will remember it, before the end.”  
_If that be so, it will only be my corpse that receives his praise. Only my spilled blood could hope to buy pardon for my sin of not being enough. Never, while I live, will Father love me._

_Never has he wanted me._

He left the wizard behind, thankful his helmet concealed at least part of his grief from the people looking to him with dying hope.

_I cannot save you._

_Pray someone else can._

 

* * *

 

Two horses deep they advanced on the burning Osgiliath, the people of Minas Tirith watching from the walls. A line of horse and Man, flesh and steel, dead, but having yet to fall still.

 

* * *

 

_And in the silent halls of the King's abandoned throne, a Hobbit sang to wile away a Steward's boredom since the time would not be wasted in worry for his son._

_“Home is behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread. Through shadow, to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight.”_

 

_* * *_

 

Without cover they advanced, drawing swords that could not yet reach their foes. They advanced on the ruins of Osgiliath, where only flickers betrayed the orc archers in their sheltered positions.

Kenobi felt his blood pound through his veins, thought of Anakin, felled by arrows.

Thought it was only proper that the weaker son test his mettle against the same fate.

If he could take the shafts in his body and refuse to beg for mercy, refuse to scream, if he could face death with courage...

Mayhap his father would then see his worth.

If he fell well.

 

* * *

 

_“Mist and shadow, cloud and shade, all shall fade— all shall fade.”_

 

* * *

 

Horse and rider fell, in silence and in blood.

Most never reached the walls of Osgiliath.

And not an enemy tasted the bite of their blades.

Those not slain by orcish arrow fell mauled by a winged beast of the Nazgul.

But of them all...

Not one remained.

Kenobi took his arrows, but what felled him was the strike of the Nazgul.  _I come, my brother,_ he thought as darkness descended, grateful he would not see the White City fall.

 

* * *

 

One horse survived the massacre.

It raced home, its rider's foot tangled in its stirrup.

The gates opened for it to drag the mangled Man into the street.

All who saw him knew him, and grief spilled through them all.

The shafts were broken to deprive them of their feathers, but left buried within the body. Placed tenderly on a stretcher the still form was rushed to where the Steward waited.

As they reached the highest tier, Lord Qui-Gon himself ran to meet them, robes flying, crying, “Kenobi! Say not that he has fallen!”

As the stretcher was lowered to rest beneath the White Tree, Qui-Gon fell to his knees beside it, hands reaching out— but there was nothing he could do.

The young face, twisted in grief and hopelessness tore at the Steward's heart, for he knew this was his work.

“They were outnumbered,” a voice more bold than wise spoke forth.

But Lord Qui-Gon was far too distracted to care.

Even now, he bewailed not the loss of a man who loved him, only ever repaying insult with loyalty—

But the loss of his line.

That the House of Stewards had failed, with no blood to carry it on.

And he cursed Kenobi for not possessing the grace to have provided a son to carry on the line before taking those Mordor-forged arrows.

At least then his purpose for existing would have been fulfilled. As it was he lay slain for his weakness, and Kenobi's selfishness condemned Qui-Gon to face the end of his proud lineage. Anakin would never have failed him this way.

Perhaps it should all burn.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Lord Qui-Gon has lost his mind! He is burning Kenobi alive!”

The wizard turned, horror-struck by the Halfling's warning.

 

* * *

 

Kenobi lay shivering, sweat beading his brow, dreaming anguished dreams of darkness and death.

Qui-Gon passed a hand over his face, bitterness in his voice as he spoke, “He is already burning.”

He rose, standing on the pyre, and poured oil over his own head, wincing, just slightly, at its cold caress.

“Set a fire in our flesh,” he commanded.

One of his men stepped forward, hesitant, torch in his hand—

The door exploded open, Windu riding Shadowfax straight into the room. “ _ End  _ this madness!” he demanded.

Qui-Gon yanked the firebrand from the soldier's hand, scowling at Windu. “You may triumph on the field of battle for a day, but against the power that has risen in the east, there is no victory.”

Qui-Gon threw the flame at his own feet, and eagerly the fire caught the oil-soaked wood.

Windu snatched a spear from one of the guards, Shadowfax racing forwards so Windu could strike the Steward with the flat of the weapon, knocking him from the pedestal.

The Halfling behind him leaped into the flame, putting all his strength into rolling the unconscious Man from the fire's reach and to the floor. With a yell he succeeded, the two of them falling with a clatter of mail.

Kenobi hadn't stirred, his clothes still burning—

The Hobbit beat the flames out with frantic pats of his glove-clad hands.

“ _ No! _ ” Qui-Gon shrieked at him, “ _ You will not take my son from me! _ ” 

Shadowfax interfered, striking the Steward away from his assault on the Halfling, sending him back into the fire's embrace.

Looking up, Qui-Gon could only see Kenobi's face, still and pale, eyes just now barely unclosing—

“Kenobi,” Qui-Gon whispered. And then he screamed, leaping from the pyre and racing into the depths of the tomb, flame devouring him as he ran.

“So passes Qui-Gon, son of Dooku.” Windu's voice was grim, the only benediction the final Steward of Gondor would ever have.

And then the wizard's attention was turned to Kenobi, who had drifted away from them again, murmuring unknowable riddles in his restless sleep, the Nazgul's wound stealing life and soul inch by agonizing inch.

 

* * *

 

It would be days before Kenobi could open his eyes. Longer before he could sit up or speak.

In the silence of his paralysis, he could see a vision of beauty watching out the window. She was sad, this maiden, and wounded.

She had suffered much.

Yet still she looked to the gathering darkness, unwilling to cower in fright.

She too had known the Nazgul's touch.

And Kenobi, still closer to death than life, felt content to watch the faint glimmers of light in her hair, the stern set to her jaw, the gentle flow of her dress.

For in the face of her beauty, his pain seemed to dim.

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [and he would do his duty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059074) by [wrennette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette)




End file.
